


What the Aussie heard

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:45:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megan is sure she's won the Major Crime's pot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What the Aussie heard

## What the Aussie heard

#### by Maigret

http://None  
Pet Fly had them, I borrowed them; chained them together in the basement and well, the men in the white coats told me I had to give them back. No money, no profit.  
Written for Dolimir's birthday, but would never have been finished without Noon's kicks and her encouragement and valued help, yes, Noon's ability to find information on anything. Noon also betaed and made useful suggestions, many or which I ignored, so errors herein are mine.  
  
This story is a sequel to: http://None

* * *

Simon leaned back on two legs of his chair and savoured a mouthful of the imported beer Jim had sprung for. He was well on his way to a pleasant buzz when a slender, pale hand appeared in front of his eyes. He knew that hand, but he preferred to ignore it. The hand, however, wasn't going away. First it shook invitingly, and then its fingers snapped impatiently. 

"What, Connor?" Simon growled. 

"You owe me money." 

Simon shook his head. "Why?" 

"Cuz, I won the pool." 

"Uh huh, and which pool would that be?" 

"Oh, Cap, you know the one where we finally prove that Jim and Blair are finally boinking like bunnies." 

Simon allowed the two front legs of his chair to drop. This was almost worth giving up his buzz. 

"It has to be verified, Connor." 

Megan Connor's Cheshire cat smile was inviting. "Verified, sir, as of," she looked at her watch, "exactly three hours twenty eight minutes ago." 

"What? How?" 

Megan leaned forward until her lips were a hair's-breadth from Simon Banks' ear. "Not now, Sir, you know how some 'ears' have twice the range." 

Slanting a glance at the detective at the bar, Simon grimaced in acknowledgement, "OK, later, but you'd better have the evidence." 

"Oh, I do," she purred. 

Suddenly there was a small scuffle across the room, drawing Simon and Megan's attention along with several other patrons. 

"Up against the bar! Now!" 

"Damn, can't take him anywhere," Simon groused, loath to leave the comfortable chair. 

Megan patted Simon's arm. "Stay here, Sir, I'll take care of it." 

By the time Megan pushed her way through the crowd - using a maximum amount of elbow nudges, with liberal sprinkles of 'excuse me's' and 'sorry's' - Blair had plastered himself next to his partner. 

"Hey, Megan." 

"What happened?" Megan tilted her head in Jim's direction, where he had handcuffed someone and was talking on the cell phone. 

"Perp was pick pocketing. Jim saw it and caught him," Blair said smugly. 

Megan nodded; she'd been around Sandburg and Ellison long enough to know that any outing with them often ended with handcuffs for someone. She said bemusedly, "Do you and Jim ever have a normal day?" 

"For us, this is normal." Blair looked around, his eyes sweeping the scene professionally, and then he glanced at Megan. "You know how it is, Megan, gotta go." 

Megan nodded sagely and wandered back to Simon Banks. 

"What was it?" 

"Perp, pickpocket, Ellison," Megan summed up succinctly. Simon and the Australian inspector shook their heads in tandem, acknowledging one of the constants in the world. 

Suddenly Megan remembered her original mission and waved her slim hand under Simon's nose. 

"Show me your proof!" Simon demanded. 

"Well, Sir, I was headed to the interrogation room on 9." 

"They were painting the ninth floor today; there shouldn't have been anyone up there. What were you doing up there?" 

"Getting my proof," Megan grinned, "But I didn't know that then. See, I was going upstairs to eat my lunch with Rhonda. We thought since it was so miserable out, we'd find a quiet spot indoors." 

"It's Cascade, Megan; it's always miserable out," Simon pronounced sourly. 

Ignoring him, Megan continued, "Rhonda went back to her desk to fetch ketchup and I heard something down the hall." 

Simon looked up at the Inspector. "Megan, just what time was this?" 

"Umm, I busted the Sanducci yobbo around 11, finished my paperwork about an hour later; ran out with Brown to question Mrs. Harrington about her eyewitness account of the Baroni robbery last week. She was about as useful as tits on a bull -- couldn't identify an elephant even if it walked up and sat in front of her-" 

"Megan?" Simon interrupted. 

"Oh, it was 4:18 when I went upstairs this afternoon." 

Simon nodded solemnly, pushing his chair back off its two front legs. 'This is going to be good,' he thought. "You heard a noise," he said encouragingly. 

"Right, so I went along the hallway. I pulled my gun but then I heard Ellison and Sandburg having a very suggestive conversation, and that was before the moaning and groaning began. Sir, I'm telling you, you need to talk to them about doing it on the job." 

Hiding a smile, Simon Banks nodded sagely. "I'll have a talk with them, but you claimed to have proof." 

"Yes, Sir, Cap'n Sir, right here. I had my tape recorder because I had been interviewing that bat of a woman so I just pressed it and voila." Megan brandished a small black microcassette recorder in her hand. 

"Megan, here at the Cascade PD we don't call our witnesses bats," Simon corrected with a smile before arranging his face into severe lines and prodding, "Surely you don't expect me to take your word for it? Play it." 

"Sir?" Megan's voice dropped to a shocked whisper. "It's pornographic." 

"I think I can handle it." Noting the indecision on Megan's face Simon added, "The only way you're collecting the pot from me is by furnishing _proof_." 

The inspector nibbled her lip, her face a study of indecision. 

"The pot _is_ $600," Simon noted idly. 

That was the final impetus Megan needed. She leaned forward and with a flourish pressed the play button on the machine. 

:::rustling is heard on the tape:::: 

"I don't think you're going to get it in there." 

"You don't know, man, I've had a lot of practice at this." 

::::loud groan:::: 

"Chief, watch it, dammit!" 

::::another deep groan accompanied by a rustle of clothing:::: 

"Jim, this would go a lot easier without directions from you." 

::::silence::::: 

"That's it, yeah, oooh yeah, that's the spot." 

:::heartfelt moan:::: 

A slender finger pressed the stop button on the small cassette recorder. "Being a lady, I left them to their privacy," Megan finished primly. "There you have it. I'll take six crisp bills, please." She wiggled her right hand for emphasis. 

Simon Banks gave up the fight to keep his expression solemn and began laughing - loudly. 

Confused, Megan waited for an explanation. When Simon's laughter escalated to guffawing accompanied by finger pointing and tear wiping, Megan began to be a wee bit peeved. It was probably the impatient drumming of ten slender fingers atop the table and the increasingly interested looks their small table was receiving from the surrounding bar patrons, which caused Simon's chuckles to trail off finally. 

He met Megan's eyes. "Nope, you still have no proof and that pot ain't yours, Sheila." 

"How can you say that?" Megan expostulated. "You heard them: the groaning, the right spot.... Didn't you hear those moans?" 

Simon grinned. "I'm insulted you didn't recognize my voice. I moan and groan all the time at your expense reports." 

Megan's eyes rounded. "You and Jim and Blair?" she whispered, scandalized. 

Simon snorted. "Megan Connor, you need to disinfect your mind." 

"Well, you said-" 

"I had a flat tire today. While changing it I threw my back out. I was in so much pain when I got back to the CPD that I could barely walk. Blair offered to find the knotted muscle. Jim remembered the empty interrogation room on 9 with that convenient flat table, and supervised with his senses. And there you have it." 

"No pot?" 

"That's not a question that should come out of any detective's mouth, but nope, you don't get the pot." 

"Captain Banks, you know and I know those two are a couple. Why do we have to prove it?" Megan's expression turned speculative. "You know, we could take a few dollars from the pot and spring for a wiretap and still have quite a bit left over for me." 

Simon grinned broadly. "H and Rafe already asked and I'll give you the same answer they got. No." 

"Drat. I was so sure I'd won the pot, I was already planning how I was going to spend it. Guess it's back to watching." 

Unsympathetic, Simon nodded and drained his mug of beer. "That'd be my advice." 

Jim and Blair walked back into the bar moments later, having turned the pickpocket over to the local patrol cop. Jim shared a smug grin with Blair and they flashed the Aussie detective identical toothy smiles. 

Megan muttered, "So, they heard me make a blue. I think it's time to get the real truth out of them." She surged to her feet. "Don't get too comfy with that pot, Sir. It's still mine. I have those two men in my sights and I'm going to wring the truth from them, whether they like it or not." 

Jim stopped dead in his tracks; he leaned down close to Sandburg's ear. 

Both men fled. 

End 

Australian slang courtesy:  
<http://www.koalanet.com/australian-slang.html>

Make a blue - make a mistake 

Sheila - a woman 

Yobbo - an uncouth person 

Useful as an ashtray on a motorbike / tits on a bull: unhelpful or incompetent person or thing - "he, she or it is about as useful as tits on a bull" etc. etc. 

* * *

End 

What the Aussie heard by Maigret: mlogick@hicom.net  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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